


The Fall of the Castle

by Skalidra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canon Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9396599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: When Sendak takes the Castle from the Paladins, he ends up with two hostages. One is useful for nothing more than leverage; the unconscious blue paladin who likely won't live much longer. But the other is the black paladin, Zarkon's escaped Champion, and their fight has given Sendak quite an interest in him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, last day of Dark Voltron Week! This was a free day, so this is just, a thing that grabbed me and wanted to be written? This happens during episode 4; The Fall of the Castle of the Lions. (Yes, I was lazy about the name.) Enjoy!

Sendak's throat itches, and he raises his hand to rub at it as his second-in-command, Haxus, manhandles the Champion's arms behind his back. Haggar's gift of a metal arm, the _only_ thing that makes this human a danger as far as he's concerned, is dull now, lifeless, and the weaponized tips of the fingers had never actually touched his throat, yet there's a phantom itch there anyway. As if those fingers had actually burned him, as _if_ the Champion was good enough to actually harm him any way worse than faint bruises.

The fight had been short, although vicious. The Champion is agile, certainly, but crippled by his care for others, and that makes him weak by default. Almost a shame, since the human was an enjoyable fight, however briefly. Over now though. The Castle is theirs, the barrier is in place with the other paladins locked outside, and Zarkon has been informed of their impending arrival. _Victory_ is his.

And yet, the itch remains.

He forces himself to drop his hand as Haxus clicks the cuffs over the Champion's wrists, rendering the arm of the still unconscious human disabled until they're removed. Sendak would have preferred to rip the arm from the human's shoulder, but Haggar had expressed a desire to have her experiment back in a single piece, and he was assured that the cuffs will work as intended. The Champion groans as Haxus drops him back to the floor, before his second-in-command looks over at the crumpled form of the blue paladin.

One eyebrow rises in question as Haxus looks back to him.

He scoffs, flashing his teeth. "The weakling won't wake any time soon; leave him."

"Yes, Commander Sendak."

Haxus returns to readying the ship for departure, and he gives into the urging of the itch at his throat and moves closer to the Champion. The human is face down, expression growing tight with strain as he begins to stir, the scratches across the curve of his jaw beginning to bead a dark red blood. Fascinating color, and he can smell it in the air; a sharp tang not so different from Galra blood. The armor they've put him in held up in their fight, though it now bears scratches as well as smears of dirt from his impacts with the ground. Minor things, though more than the Champion managed to inflict in return.

He lowers his given arm, hooking two claws beneath the Champion's chest and pulling sharply upwards to flip him. He gets a grunt, and the Champion's eyes blink open, staring blearily upwards. Sendak waits a moment for the Champion's eyes to clear, to turn and look up at him, and then to narrow as the human snarls, showcasing its weak, _blunt_ teeth. Pathetic.

" _You_ ," comes the furious declaration. The Champion tries to move, finds that his arms are bound — the gifted one unresponsive — and gives a sound of frustration, legs curling up to try and get beneath him.

He allows the Champion to struggle upwards, at least as far as his knees. Then he slides his claws beneath the Champion's throat, scratching at his skin to tilt it upwards, to pull the Champion's steel gaze to his own.

"You are an interesting creature, Champion," he mocks, with a bare of his own teeth in a smile. "I can see why Haggar wishes you returned to her; so much fire for such a pathetically weak body. You could almost be considered a threat, to any normal soldier. Before any true warrior, however, you are as weak and helpless as any other slave."

The Champion's jaw sets, breath coming sharp and relatively shallow. "I'm not scared of you. I had my hand at your throat, Sendak. I could have won."

He curls his fingers, and the Champion grunts and jerks his head up to avoid the continuation of the long scratches now decorating his the skin of his throat and chin. "And yet you kneel before me, Champion. Defeated. You never even touched me, and if you had the courage to end that battle, you would have struck deep and true instead of merely threatening. I cannot imagine that you were this weak when under Zarkon's eyes; perhaps it is best you were returned to him."

"I won't fight for any of you," the Champion snarls, holding his gaze. "And that's _not_ my name!"

The backhand is light, but it snaps the Champion's head to the side, and stuns him for long enough that Sendak can lean down and wrap his flesh hand around the Champion's jaw. There's a bit of a struggle, but his strength is superior to the human's, and he drags him halfway to standing by his jaw, grinning down at the little human and making sure his teeth are showing. It wouldn't do to not return the Champion's challenge, even if he is foolish enough to care about other beings to the point of his own detriment.

"Your name is what the Galra turned you into," he snarls back. " _Champion_ is the only thing about you worthy of a second glance, you pathetic weakling. You are _nothing_ outside of what the Galra made you; a broken shell of a creature too in denial to recognize the gift he was given."

"A _gift?!_ They took my arm!"

He laughs, squeezing the Champion's jaw hard enough to draw a pained groan from him. "You would have been lucky to lose them both, Champion. It's the strongest part of you, isn't it? Hasn't it kept you alive?" He leans down, close enough that he can pull the Champion's head to the side and scent that bleeding graze again. "Would you have wanted to face me without it, little human?"

He shoves the Champion back as he lets go, allowing him to fall backwards to the floor. The Champion's breath leaves him in a huff upon impact, followed by a short groan as the human's eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He scoffs at the expression of pain, glancing over to where the blue paladin is still crumpled on the floor. His breath is even enough, though the burns on him speak to rather serious injury. He'll live long enough to be useful; past that, Sendak could not care less.

"It is your foolish regard for the lives of those weaker than you that makes you in turn weak, Champion." The idle kick that he gives the Champion's leg gets him to curl, to draw in on himself and start to get back onto his knees, gaze lowered. "I saw a few of your performances in the ring, before your escape. You can't fool me, little human; you loved the ring."

"No," comes the instant denial, but the Champion's eyes are a little wide, a little horrified. " _No_ , I didn't."

Crouching brings him down almost to the Champion's level, though the size between them means he's still looking down when he lifts his flesh hand and scrapes the claws of it down the curve of that fragile jaw. "Lying little Champion. Your blood thrills when you fight; I watched you _laugh_ at the blood that coated your face in the ring." He clasps his hand around the Champion's throat, feeling the rapid pulse beneath the skin there. "You were almost like a Galra. If you had been _that_ Champion today, little human, you might have stood a chance."

The Champion shudders, gaze flickering away from his, expression one of naked pain. " _No_ ," is repeated, quieter this time, almost desperate. "I wouldn't—”

"You don't remember," he connects, and that pulls another laugh from him, a deeper one. "Oh, Champion. Broken soldier, just trying to outrun what you know you are. A _beast_ like any other."

"Shut up!" the Champion shouts, teeth flashing, body lunging forward against his hand.

He squeezes and flashes his own teeth, _slamming_ the Champion back into the floor, crouching over him and _snarling_ into his face. For a moment, as the Champion's eyes narrow and he snarls back, feral _rage_ in his expression, Sendak can see the ghost of the real Champion, the one he saw in the broadcasts of the arena battles. The one that was a vicious, brutal, _clever_ fighter who sliced his opponents apart with his bare hands. The one that was worth the attention.

Then those grey eyes haze, coming unfocused for a moment as he goes rigid, breath coming fast and shallow for some reason entirely unrelated to the pressure of the hand on his throat. He sneers when the Champion comes back, eyes focusing once again, mouth parting in a small gasp. He squeezes, _hard_ , to chase the spark of fear from the Champion's gaze. It works; the human chokes, instinctively struggling beneath him, but the fear turns back to rage.

Sendak grins, lifting his head to look over and find Haxus, still at the Castle's main control panel. "Haxus," he calls, drawing the attention of his second-in-command. "Inform me when the Castle is ready to launch."

Haxus looks down at the Champion, pinned beneath him, and then offers a smirk. "Of course, Commander. Should I order the drones out?"

"Let them watch," he dismisses, turning his attention back to the Champion and loosening his fingers just enough to let him gasp a breath. "I enjoy having witnesses to my victories."

Haxus' head dips in obedience, before turning back to the Castle's controls. There's no verbal encouragement, but Haxus has been his second for a good while, and he knows that it's an implied sentiment. Sendak enjoys witnesses to _any_ kind of victory, and if that involves humiliating his opponent before others, all the better. Besides, Haxus enjoys watching even if he doesn't usually admit it. Sometimes, he even lets Haxus enjoy his conquered opponents when he's finished with them, if he's in the right mood and they have the time to spare.

That won't be happening this time, at least not right away. He wants to reinforce his defeat of the Champion, and he isn't interested in sharing. Not yet.

The Champion is sucking in strained breaths beneath the pressure of his hand, still twisting beneath him but not with near enough leverage to force him away. Weak, fragile little thing. Even with the anger in its eyes, and the sharp flash of teeth as he struggles, the Champion doesn't have anywhere near enough strength to defeat him with its main weapon stripped away. Still, defeated opponents are useful in other ways, and this little one should prove pleasing enough to be entertaining.

He considers, as he holds the Champion down with ease, what his body could be good for. Human genitals are a mystery to him, but he believes that the Champion is 'male' in the same sense as a Galra, which would imply — if they're anywhere similar — that, given their size difference, to take him like a female would either cause quite a bit of damage or require more effort than he has the patience for. Neither option is enticing; crippling the Champion this early would mean that he would be harder to enjoy over the course of their trip, and he doesn't want to sacrifice an interesting plaything quite so quickly.

A snap of those teeth catches his attention, and he finds his own mouth curling into a grin as a thought occurs to him.

The Champion's teeth are blunt, harmless unless intentionally wielded to cause damage, and he has the perfect bit of leverage to force that cooperation. He's enjoyed other races' mouths before; humans will surely be similarly pleasurable. (And though it may take the Champion's voice, it won't cripple him. A simple compromise.)

He drags the Champion up as he sits up, suspending the little human as he studies the shape of that mouth. The Champion chokes again when he squeezes his fingers, before gasping and coughing when he allows air again. "Settle, Champion," he says, through his smirk. "I am your conqueror; some part of you knows what that means, doesn't it? You know what's expected."

The Champion shakes his head, pulling against his grip, gasping a, "No. _No_. I won't."

He laughs, shoving the Champion down again before he lets go. "You think so, but you're _weak_ , Champion. You'll take what I do, or I'll have fun with your damaged little friend instead of you." Grey eyes stare up at him, wide and shocked, and he shifts his given arm and traces the oversized claws down the side of the Champion's face. "Go on then, Champion. Prove me wrong. Sacrifice the dying one and save your own skin, like a _true_ warrior. Like the _Champion_ you are."

"I'm _not!"_ he shouts, teeth bared but eyes wide and desperate; a cornered beast. "I'm— I—” Those eyes dart to the side, to look at the blue paladin's still form, expression contorting into pain. There's a hard shudder, a few moments disrupted only by how the Champion breathes, hard and strained, and then those eyes shut, head turning back to him. "Tell me what you want," is the surrender.

It makes his smirk curl into a grin, before he pushes away from the Champion and to his feet. "On your knees," he commands.

The Champion takes a steadier breath in, before curling and twisting to get his legs beneath him, rising onto his knees without that much of a problem, despite his bound arms. His head is bowed, but a flick of claws gets him to lift it, and then to rise up into a higher kneel to bring him to a better height. He passes a metal claw across the Champion's mouth before lowering that hand to clamp around one shoulder, scraping against the armor on his back.

"It's simple enough," he mocks, as he uses his flesh hand to tug apart his own armor enough to bare the length of his cock. Semi-hard, from his considerations. "Behave, please me, or I shred your injured boy into bloody ribbons. Do you need more motivation than that, Champion?"

"No." The Champion sounds a bit breathless. "I— I don't think I can take that. My mouth's not—”

"Then it dislocates your jaw," he interrupts, wrapping his hand around it so he can guide the tip to rest against the redness of the Champion's lips. "Open your mouth and relax; pray you're lucky."

There's a thick swallow, but the Champion's mouth does fall open. He pushes forward into the wet heat, letting go of himself to slide his hand around the back of the Champion's head instead, gripping his skull to hold him in place as he continues. The stretch of lips around him is obscene, and he can feel the tighter pressure as he sinks deeper, expects the Champion to choke, but—

"You _do_ know this," he confirms, watching how the Champion's gone lax in his grip, eyelids flickering, all hint of fight gone. He gives a thick groan as he sheathes himself entirely, scraping his claws across the Champion's scalp, ignoring the very dull scrape of teeth. "Whether you remember it or not, Champion, your body knows the truth of what you are. _Galra_ property; every inch of you."

The Champion shudders, throat contracting around him for a moment, eyes clenching shut. He can feel the vibration of the muffled, protesting sound the Champion makes, and it draws a snarl from him and a rock of his hips.

He pulls out then, only getting as far as halfway out before he shoves back, refusing to abandon the enjoyable sensation any further than that. The Champion takes it and he grins at the discovery. Whatever his previous Galra masters took, the Champion knows how to be used. What an _excellent_ surprise.

His hand holds the Champion's head in place as he fucks into it, letting his breath come in small pants and his movements devolve to instinct. His strength and speed draw the Champion's brow into a strained furrow, but only the deepest and fastest of his thrusts get the throat to contract around him, and if there are any gagging sounds that accompany it they're too soft for him to hear beneath the sounds he's making in turn. He can smell it when one of his claws draws blood, and he growls and _snaps_ his hips forward hard enough that the Champion actually does jerk a bit.

His teeth bare, the urge to bite heavy in his mind, even though the Champion is far out of range of his teeth. He wants to sink his teeth into that fragile skin and mark the weakling for all to see. He wants to _own_ the Champion's body and prove his own superiority in the basest of ways. Wants to hear the Champion _scream_ in either pleasure or pain, at his whim.

Instead he snarls and carefully adjusts his hand so he won't draw any more blood. Once they're on their way, _then_ maybe he can leave his marks on that skin. Not this time.

The feeling in his gut comes quickly, spurred on by the adrenaline of victory. The Champion's mouth feels _good_ , and the sight of him bound down there, the faint scent of blood in the air… All of it winds together low in his pelvis, bringing him closer to the edge.

His given hand tightens, enough that the armor beneath it creaks and the Champion gives a groan that sounds like pain. That's enough to shove him that last bit forward, and he bares his teeth and snarls, ears swiveling to pin flat against his head, as he shoves deep into the little human's mouth. That, _finally_ , gets the Champion to really choke, jerking against him but unable to break free from his grip as he spills down into the depths of the Champion's throat.

Sendak forces his gaze to stay steady so he can watch, as his hips rock in small circles and he holds the Champion to him. The choking comes under control after a few moments.

When he's finished, and starting to shrink, he slowly pulls himself from the Champion's mouth, though he makes sure to linger on the bed of his tongue for a moment to be certain the taste remains. The Champion's head lowers when he lets it, and he tucks himself away again as he watches the human breathe in sharp gasps. He keeps the grip he has on the Champion's shoulder with his given arm, but sweeps his thumb up that armored chest to press against his throat and force his head back up.

The red lips are somewhat swollen, the Champion's hair falling in his eyes, mouth parted to breathe. He looks mussed, taken; it's a good look for the little human.

"There," he taunts. "I'd prefer to be in you in other ways but that will do for now. Was that so difficult, Champion? You seem to have _practice_ at it, after all."

The Champion's mouth closes, jaw pressing together, gaze dropping away. It's not a denial, although the way the Champion shudders, eyes closing for a moment, broadcasts his fear of the idea. Poor, broken little soldier. He could say _anything_ and probably be believed, if the Champion truly has so little memory of his time as a fighter. Not that he would need anything more than the most likely truth.

A small, fragile, slave with enough fire and cunning to win every match he was ever put in would have been very popular. And on the reverse side, his owner would have kept him on a tight leash, and frequently reminded him of his place. His mind may be damaged, but the Champion's body remembers what it's been through. Every experience written in scars and sense-memory.

"Once this ship is in the air and secure, we can explore the other ways," he promises. The Champion stiffens, and he bares his teeth as he gives an amused growl. "Relax, Champion; I'm sure you know _those_ ways too. I wouldn't risk damaging my only real source of entertainment for the entire trip back to Zarkon's command, at least not anything worse than what you'll heal from. That wouldn't be fair to Haxus, would it?"

The Champion's gaze snaps up to his. "That—” The cut off word is rough, weak, but the shudder is harder. "No, I—”

"Commander," Haxus calls, "we're ready."

"Excellent." Sendak pushes the Champion down, bowing him halfway down before he turns and heads to Haxus' side. "Begin the procedure."

* * *

Pidge is the one to bring it to her, clutching something to her chest and staring upwards with wide, frightened eyes. "Allura?"

"What is it?" she asks, immediately turning to Pidge. "Pidge, is everything alright?"

There's a small shake of the head, and then Pidge's hand slowly comes forward, offering her the small drive held in her hand. "I— I was going through the security feeds we have from when Sendak took over the Castle to see if I could find anything useful, anything they talked about, and I— Allura, I found something. It's not…” Pidge chokes a bit, as Allura takes the drive. "It's not about the mission but I— I thought someone needed to know. I think Shiro needs help, and I— I don't think I can do it."

Pidge takes a deep breath, steps back. Won't meet her eyes. "Just watch it, alright? I'm gonna go. Hunk wanted someone to test out some recipes and I said I'd be there."

It's not quite what she'd call fleeing, but Pidge leaves in a rush, not looking back, not offering anything more than that.

Allura straightens up, frowning down at the drive for a few long moments before she crosses the room to the Castle's console. She has a suspicion that this isn't something she should play on the main view-screen, so she queues it to the smaller one on the console itself, bracing her hands on either side of the panel as it pops up.

Seeing Lance's still, sprawled form is still enough to make her stomach tighten with a distant fear, but she breathes it away and forces herself to pay attention to the rest of the video. Specifically, the conversation between Sendak and Shiro, if it can be called such a thing. She flinches when he's struck, and then again when Sendak pins him down and she can recognize the haze and rigidity of one of his flashbacks before it's shaken away. The others in the room seem to be off-screen from this particular camera's angle, but Sendak speaks with someone else, and then…

Her stomach rebels only a minute in, and she has to throw herself to the side to vacate her stomach, desperately clutching her hair back with one hand.

"Allura?"

_Coran's_ voice panics her. Of course he would be back, of course he would only be gone from her side for a bit; this is a delicate time and they are the only two who can run the Castle, it makes sense that he would—

She forces herself to push up and flail for the console with one hand, trying to find the button that will end the video, dislodge the drive, _anything_ but let Coran—

"Oh," comes the soft exclamation, and then Coran is helping her up, carefully sweeping her hair back and dabbing at her mouth with a cloth pulled from who knows where. "It's alright," Coran tells her, wrapping deceptively strong arms around her back as he cradles her against his chest. "It will be alright, Princess."

"It is _not_ alright," she insists, trying not to clutch too hard at his clothing. "Shiro was— He was hurt, he was _violated_ , and we knew nothing of it. He must be in _so_ much pain, and I— I _missed_ it."

"Shiro was no more troubled than usual after that crisis," Coran reminds her, one hand lightly petting at her hair as he has not done since she was a child. "We all knew that he was in pain, Allura, but it is not our fault that he hid the severity of it. This is a— a very personal trauma. He may not have wished to share it with anyone, even one of us."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks, into his shoulder. "I— I must speak with him. He needs to know that we are here for him. He needs to know that we can help him, doesn't he?"

"It may help," is the gentle answer. "You cannot press him though, Allura. If he does not wish to speak of it… It would be best to leave him be." Coran squeezes her close, then slowly lets her step away. "I will clean up here; I would…” Coran clears his throat, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "It will be difficult, but I recommend watching the rest before you speak with him. Have the full story."

"Yes, I—” She swallows, hugs her own chest to make up for the lack of Coran's touch. "I shall. Would you… stay? I am not positive I can do this alone."

"Of course," Coran murmurs, and pulls her into his side, turning them both back towards the screen. "Anything you need, Princess."

* * *

The Castle tells her where Shiro is — an observation deck on the very edge of the castle, with an enormous window and not much else; she's not positive how he even found it — and she goes to him, thoughts whirling around in her head like wind storms. She finds him doing some form of exercise that involves pushing himself up from the floor with a single hand, his metal arm looped up behind his back, sweat glistening on the exposed skin of his shoulders.

He spots her within a moment of her entering, but goes through two more of the pushes before gathering himself and standing. His arm wipes the sweat away from his forehead, mouth curling in a small smile. "Allura; what's up?" Her expression must give something away, because his smile falls, his posture shifting to let him stand more at the ready. "Are you okay? What is it?"

Her gaze catches on the scars on his skin, the ones normally hidden beneath his more extensive clothing, before she forces herself to look up again and continue to approach. "I—” She has to stop, start again. "Pidge was going through the video feeds from Sendak's invasion," she starts, and she can see his expression fall, see it tighten, "and she… she found…”

"I know what Pidge found," Shiro offers, saving her the horror of actually saying it. "I figured someone would find out, eventually. She brought it to you, then. And the others?"

She draws to a stop, out of arm's length and safely distanced from him, in case he doesn't wish to be close. "Coran came in as I was… watching. None of the others know yet."

Shiro takes a deep breath, hands bracing on his hips, gaze lowered to the floor. "Is Pidge alright?"

"Is she…? _Shiro_ , you were hurt! You were— What he did to you—”

"It happened," is the sharp interruption, as Shiro meets her eyes again. "It's done. He's out an _airlock,_ drifting in space in a cracked tube, so I doubt he'll live to do it again. I _know_ how messed up it was, Allura; I was there. _Is Pidge alright?_ "

She can only stare helplessly for a few moments, before she crosses her arms and shakes her head. "She is… frightened. She wanted to make sure you got help if you needed it; I sent Coran to see if he can help calm her down some. Shiro, I— I am _so_ sorry for— for all of this. If you need to talk…”

Shiro's gaze softens a little bit, before he raises his human hand, scrubbing it over his eyes with a sigh. "I'll see if I can talk to Pidge later on. Thank you, but… It wasn't what Sendak did, Allura. It's more complicated than that."

"There is a couch," she offers, quietly. "I am fairly good with complicated."

There's hesitation, before Shiro ducks his head in a small nod. "Alright, but…” A deep breath, and Shiro's hands return to his hips. "Are you sure you want to do this? Really sure?"

"I am positive. Please, come sit with me." Shiro hesitates for another moment, but does follow her over to the couch, sinking down to sit at her side. Not touching, but well within the range that she could reach over, if she wished to. "Speak at your own pace," she tells him, letting her gaze rest near his thigh instead of watching his face itself.

He takes in an audibly shallow breath, and she watches his metal hand clench against the top of his leg. "How much did you see?" he asks, and she can only answer honestly.

"All of it. Coran… He advised I finish, rather than speak to you only partially informed."

Shiro is silent for several long moments, where she fights the urge to look directly at him, before he says, "I know what it looked like." His voice is quiet, steady. "I… I should be more upset than I am, I know that, but it's just… I think…” Another pause, his breathing is a little more strained. "It felt _familiar_. What he did to me. When he… I knew how. I _shouldn't_ , but I did, and that makes me think that I've… done it before. A lot. And if I have… I don't know, maybe that's why my reaction isn't…”

His voice cracks, and she reaches out and very carefully touches his thigh, letting just her fingertips rest there. He takes in a shuddering breath, and she gives into the urge to look up, finding his eyes squeezed shut, his expression tense with pain.

"God, he— he _raped_ me, and I barely _care_. I should care, I should be upset. What's _wrong_ with me that I'm not?"

"You seem upset," she comments, keeping her voice soft. "Your reaction isn't your fault, Shiro. There are many different responses to trauma, and—”

"I don't know who I _am_ ," he cuts her off with, eyes opening and looking over. "You don't either. Everyone says I was some kind of… of _monster_ in Zarkon's arena. _Sendak_ thought that, and he— he baited it out of me. If you watched all of it you know that. And I… I know how to fight, I know how to kill, I know how to…” A self-deprecating laugh, and Shiro shakes his head. "I know how to deal with _Galra anatomy_. What kind of slavers give their slave a deadly weapon for an arm? What kind of story does that paint about who I am, Allura? What did they turn me into in there?"

"You are nothing but _you_ ," she tries to reassure, gently squeezing his leg. "Shiro, you are kind, and honest. Whatever they made of you, you are still our Shiro at the end of the day."

"You don't know that." Shiro looks over, holding her gaze. "If my memories come back, I might become the Champion again. I might kill people with a smile and laugh at their blood on me. You'd be better off locking me away now."

"Absolutely not. I refuse to believe that one part of you will define all of who you are, Shiro. You are one of my paladins, and I will help you how you need it but I refuse to imprison you for what you were forced to do, or what you fear you may become."

He shivers, flesh hand curling to match his metal one. "Look, there's a good chance that I was... That they used me so many times that I stopped caring about it. It's the only reason I can think of that explains things. Whoever I am, I'm broken, alright? You shouldn't waste your time trying to fix me."

"What I do with my time is entirely my own decision," she reminds him, as gentle as she can be without sacrificing being firm. "I'm not giving up on you, Shiro."

Slowly, she lifts her hand and smooths it over his Galra one, pressing to ease it open and then tangling her fingers with his, even as he shudders, otherwise shying away.

"Now," she murmurs, "talk about whatever you need to."


End file.
